


If I Drink Enough

by HoltzmannForDays



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 08:38:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20525120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoltzmannForDays/pseuds/HoltzmannForDays
Summary: Circa season one episode four AKA It’s Called WhiskyInstead of going to Luke’s,  Jessica goes home and is joined by a guest.





	If I Drink Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by King Princess’ ‘Talia’. Highly recommend giving it a listen. It's very fitting for the two of them.

_Four drinks I'm wasted_

_I can see you dancing, I can lay down next to you_

_At the foot of my bed_

_If I drink enough_

_I can taste your lipstick, I can lay down next to you_

_But it's all in my head_

_If I drink enough I swear that I will wake up next to you_

* * *

New York City never could take a hint. 

As Jessica deleted evidence of Luke from her computer picture by picture, nursing a room temperature class of Jack Daniels, the streets beyond her grey walls bustled with noise. Some may have been bothered by the never ending nuisance of car horns and colorful language. Especially in moments like these. Ones that were meant to belong to solely one person. Not Jessica though. 

To her it was just another November night sitting heavy in her dining room chair, weighed down by regret. One could even say drowning her sorrows in cheap alcohol if they didn’t fear being punched by said woman for the sheer predictability of a statement like so. Nevertheless, there she was. Drinking. Regretting. Another November night in Hell’s Kitchen. 

An insistent buzz against the wood of her desk drew Jessica to her feet and into the other room. This late there’s only three caller IDs she’d pick up the phone for. Jeri, the New York State Penitentiary, or Trish. She didn’t know whether or not to be thankful it was the latter. 

“If this is a booty call I like your chances,” she answered. 

**Translation - It’s late. Are you okay? **

There was a pause on the other line. Jessica took a slow breath and waited. 

“May I come over?”

Her heart skipped a beat (but she’d never admit that). She flexed the fingers not holding the phone to her ear.

“Well that was easy,” she crooned in a way she hoped hid her concern. It didn’t. Of course. Trish was more or less a walking, talking, Jessica Jones dictionary. One that wouldn’t risk appearing needy or dependent unless absolutely necessary. She had Dorathy Walker to thank for that character flaw. But it worked as a red flag for the private eye. So in the moment the forwent cursing the woman. 

“I...never mind. You’re probably working. Billable hours and...” she trailed, voice tight.

Jessica peered through the blinds of her window and narrowed her gaze at the town car parked by her building, engine running. Like a worn Prius in a lot outside Barneys.

“Trish.”

“Yes?”

“Let Charles go home to his family. My door’s unlocked.”

_Well. Without a lock would be more accurate. Semantics._

From her apartment she could see Trish shake her head and almost laugh to herself. 

“It’s Henry.”

“What’d I say? Something less pretentious?”

The line went dead and Jessica could’ve sworn she saw a small smile on the woman’s face. But super vision wasn’t in her reputar. 

A small silhouette shadowed the glass pane printed: Alias Investigations. Jessica smirked at the familiarity of the image. 

She stalked to the door and cracked it open. Through the gap could be seen the only woman she would allow in this late without threat of bodily harm. 

Jessica slid her fingers around Trish’s red peacoat sleeve, and pulled her gently into the apartment.

Trish closed the door behind them and pulled off her jacket to drape over the couch. Her eyes immediately fell to the three empty bottles of whiskey littering Jessica’s work desk. Her heart sank as she recognized the dependency of a vice to keep things buried where Jessica liked to keep them. 

The private eye was drunker than usual, as evident by the potency of her breath. The small, but not unnoticeable mistakes in spacial awareness. The slight sway in a usually astute saunter. 

Jessica sat in her desk chair and scooted flush to the edge, resting her arms on top of the wood. Trish took it as an invitation to sit across from her in one of the leather seats usually reserved for clients. 

A small smile graced her lips as the private eye cleared her throat unsubtly. 

“How’s your...” she let her gaze drift to the large scarf adorning Trish’s neck. 

“I’m okay. Thank you for asking,” she replied, eyes bright with a hint of amusement. 

“Good. That’s good.”

Trish blew out a quiet breath and brushed the palms of her hands against her jean clad thighs in attempt to rid of the sweat that had accumulated there. 

“I’ve been training for months,” she uttered in a low voice. 

Jessica had a feeling where this was going. “As is evident by your Kung Fu skills,” she cooled.

The attempt was futile but she thought it was funny. 

Trish looked up at her, eyes serious but gentle. 

“Do you remember that day? In the bathroom.”

Jessica scoffed, “Hard to forget.” 

“Do you remember what you said to me when I told you I didn’t need you to save me?”

Jessica played with the fringes of her worn gloves, “Can’t help it.” 

It had been the first villain she faced. The first heroine she rescued. Except Trish wasn’t really a heroine because she never wanted to be saved. Maybe never needed to be. If not from herself. 

Though deep, deep down. So deep it was nearly Jessica territory, Trish ached to be saved. Even from herself. By none other than the woman before her. 

“Since that day, you’ve been fighting my battles,” she raised a hand when Jessica opened her mouth to interrupt. “Inadvertently or not. Covertly or not, you have. And up until recently, I’ve let you. Then you left. And I had to learn how to come to terms with that-“

“- I was always there,” Jessica blurted out. “Just...quietly.” 

Trish smiled, “I know. Regardless. I learned how to protect myself. I trained for months so that when the time came you wouldn’t have to.” 

The talk show host dropped her gaze at folded her arms, “Then the time did come. So did you. And today goes down in history as another instance in which Trish Walker needs saving by Jessica Jones.” 

When she lifted her eyes to meet Jessica’s she couldn’t help but feel guilty. The woman’s pupils were dilated and her lids heavy. She probably wouldn’t even remember this conversation tomorrow morning. 

“Shit Jess. I’m s-“

“Bullshit.”

Trish’s eyes grew wide, “What?”

“You say that I’ve been fighting your battles, saving your life. Bullshit. Look in the goddamn mirror Trish. I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you.”

Trish furrowed her eyebrows in a way that made her more adorable than she had any right to be in this moment. 

“I don’t follow.” 

“Jesus Trish,” she mumbled as she walked into the kitchen to grab the bottle of whiskey she abandoned earlier. She stood in the door frame joining the two rooms and took a long swig. 

“You really think I’m still here for the free subs from the deli I accidentally stopped a robbery in that one time?” 

“I wouldn’t exactly call knocking him out cold with a bottle of bourbon accidental...”

Jessica glared so halfheartedly, Trish involuntarily let out a single laugh. 

“I’m serious.” 

Trish sighed, “You’re drunk.”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” she said with a wave of the bottle. 

“Okay. I’m sorry. Please continue.” 

Jessica shook her head and took a step forward but misplaced her weight and stumbled. Trish was out of her seat and steadying her within the second. Far too fast to be considered normal but Jessica was also far too drunk to think more of it. All she could think about now were the parts of Trish touching her. Mind clouded with her warmth almost more than the influence of alcohol. 

Once still again, Trish could take a full breath. They stood now in the middle of her living room/office, Jessica with her hands fisted in the silk fabric of Trish’s button up top. Whiskey bottle on the ground leaking out the few drops it had remaining onto her wooden floor. 

“Goodness Jess,” she breathed. 

Jessica looked down and fixed her gaze on Trish’s navy flats, “There’s a beach where my family used to vacation before...” she paused and cleared her throat. “It’s quiet. Water’s cold and there isn’t much to do so it’s usually pretty dead. We’d get a cheap hotel room and share beds that were too small for us. I pretended to hate it but really it was my favorite part of the year.”

Trish smiled and brushed her thumb against the exposed skin of Jessica’s arm. It was both cold and impossibly soft. “That sounds nice,” she said warmly. 

“After everything. I went back. That day I said I was going to the library to study for a history project? Oldest trick in the book by the way,” she said with a small chuckle.

Trish shrugged, “I figured you needed some time to yourself.”

Jessica nodded, “Yeah. Well. That’s where I went. Wasn’t planning on coming back.“ She released her grip on Trish’s shirt and let her arms fall by her side. Trish’s left hand remained resting on her hip. Thumb brushing slightly every few seconds. A reminder that she was there. Real. 

“It was the perfect place. No one would find a body. At least not for a while.” 

Trish stilled at that. She’d thought Jessica was talking about running away, not....that. Her heart pounded in her chest at a rate alarmingly too fast. 

Everything felt like too much in that moment and for a second she couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“You,” she whispered, “You never told me.” 

The hand she had on Jessica’s hip grasped at the shirt there and pulled at the material. 

Jessica shrugged, “Doesn’t make for great pillow talk I guess.” 

The following sound Trish made could have either been a laugh or a sob. Neither of them really knew. Or cared much. 

Jessica made to step away but stumbled again. Nearly falling this time of it weren’t for Trish’s arms around her now. 

“Okay,” she cooed, “Let’s get you to bed.”

Jessica didn’t argue or resist the gentle push into her bedroom. Which meant she was either too drunk to oppose or too drunk to deny herself the comfort of feeling Trish against her. 

“Here we go,” she said gently as she helped Jessica into bed, pulling off her boots while doing so. 

Trish pulled the covers over Jessica and kept them right below her shoulders. Then she sat at the edge of the bed, not quite fully facing the brunette.

After a moment of easy silence, she said this.

“You came back. To us, to...me. Why?”

Jessica closed her eyes and burrowed her nose into the fabric of her pillow, curling up under the covers. 

“To come back to you,” she mumbled groggily. 

Trish took in a sharp breath and her mouth hung open slightly. 

_She’s drunk_, she thought and reached out tentatively to brush the dark raven hair away from where it covered Jessica’s eyes. 

Then she sighed and went to the small kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. She may be super, but her powers didn’t include not choking on her own vomit. She would stay for the night and make sure the P.I. was okay. 

In the morning she would leave with a soft kiss against Jessica’s forehead. 

* * *

“It’s not like you’re interrupting some romantic interlude,” Jessica scoffed. 

Trish inhaled and looked at Jessica. 

“Why not?”

_Because I only want you. _

“Because people are dying,” she said with a shake of her head, averting her eyes. 

“Look, her obviously has feeling for you, and you definitely have feelings for him.”

“I do not.”

Trish let out an exasperated laugh, “Please, the chemistry was jumping off the two of you.” She pressed the button, calling up the elevator. “And you can’t say he’s not hot.”

_He’s not you. _

When the elevator doors opened, Trish walked inside and stood in the frame to keep it from closing. 

“Fine, he’s hot,” she sighed. “And if Kilgrave weren’t trying to kill me-“

“- You’d push him away like everybody else,” she said with a slight raise of her eyebrows. Trish had meant the words to be lighthearted, but she heard her own voice as if separate from herself, heavy and full of meaning. 

Jessica could feel herself shrinking under the intensity of Trish’s stare. How she ever learned to borrow into her soul like that with a mere look was unknown to her. 

“I can’t think about that right now,” she said dismissively. 

“Okay just,” She took a breath and shook her head, “When this is over...when you win this thing. I-“ she dropped her head before making eye contact again, “- I hope you finally allow yourself some happiness.” 

_Tried that. Look where we are now_, she thought. 

Then the doors were closing and like that, her happiness descended out of her reach. 

* * *

_They say everyone’s born a hero. But if you let it, life will push you over the line until you’re the villain. _

_Problem is, you don’t always know when you’ve crossed that line. _

“I thought they would’ve shut movie guy down by now,” Trish said as she wrapped her peacoat tighter around herself. Jessica sat perched on the edge of the roof, eating a slice of pizza and washing it down with what she assumed was some type of booze

“Still here first Friday of every month,” she said as she closed the box and made room for Trish. “Except when he’s in Boca.”

Jessica took another swig from her metal water bottle, “So what’s up? You sounded serious.”

Trish shook her head and shrugged, looking back to the movie projected on the side of the building. “It’s been a while since we did this.” 

“Nothings better than dinner and a movie after a crap ass day,” she said, drinking from the bottle again. 

“How early did you start?” Trish asked, eyes soft and curious.

Jessica cleared her throat and squinted, “Just after my last asshole client.” 

Trish gave her a knowing look, “You’ve had a lot of those lately.”

“They pay the best,” she responded curtly.

“And you don’t have to feel anything for them.” The glint in Trish’s eyes was too familiar than she would’ve preferred and it made Jessica shrink. 

“Oh, I felt something for this one,” she deflected.

Trish quirked an eyebrow and a small smirk pulled at the corner of her lips. 

Her gaze fell from Jessica’s eyes to the silver container in her hand and she couldn’t help but feel powerless. Part of her, an admittedly large part of her, wanted desperately to curb Jessica’s need of alcohol to numb the world around her. Wanted do that for her; be that for her. Wanted to be enough for her. She knew she never would be. Excepted that reality long ago. But the portion of her brain that was more sadistic than she’d care to acknowledge replayed the fantasy on a never ending loop. 

“I miss this,” she said, shivering slightly after a gust of cold wind.

“I don’t,” Jessica said before another swig. 

When Trish gave her a hurt look, she clarified. 

“Coming up here meant you were running away from something. Or someone. Because for whatever reason you wouldn’t let me handle it. Figured most of the time it was because of Dorathy. But sometimes it wasn’t and that scared the shit out of me.”

Almost more than anything, she was surprised that Jessica had revealed that much. Maybe it was the alcohol. Either way. 

“Being with you was enough Jess,” Trish said, eyes downcast. She saw Jessica’s head snap up at that. But instead of saying anything, she drank from her bottle and went back to watching the black and white film.

The next time she shivered, Jessica moved until her side was fully against Trish’s and placed a warm hand on her knee. 

Both in fear of scaring her off and in distrust that her voice would stay level, Trish said nothing. Instead choosing to enjoy this feeling for as long as she could.

* * *

“You know what?” Trish huffed, “It’s fine. I know when I’m not wanted.”

Her eyes fell to the floor under them as she pushed through the door and walked down the stairs out of the building. The P.I. followed suit, pushing through the door in a mad dash, boots thumping solidly where they hit the ground. 

“Clearly not!,” Jessica yelled, exasperated, “Or else you would’ve known the only thing I’ve ever wanted was _**you**_!” 

The word ‘_**you**_’ came out strangled and ugly. Sounded like it went through hell just to make it out of Jessica’s mouth and to Trish’s ears. 

Trish stood positively catatonic for what could’ve been ages. But was really about seven seconds. 

She turned, head first, slowly followed by the rest of her body. 

Her mouth opened and shut slowly, no words making their way out. A fish out of water was what she looked like. Except in slow motion. And if the fish was only now realizing there was a whole world beyond the sea. 

Jessica’s eyes were big and framed by the dark circles around them. Sunken in by lack of sleep and nutrition. Cheekbones gaunt. Her skin pale and tight; stretched thin over them. 

Her frame was small and her breath held, as if waiting for some unseen force to push her over and undo everything she’d built for herself. 

Trish knew that her own reflection would likely tell the same story. But for now she’d think that there was only ever one time Trish had seen her reduced to this. 

She didn’t want to think about what that meant. 

“Jess,” She exhaled. Part of her was relieved she could at least say that. 

_The line keeps moving. And I keep stepping over it._

_How far is too far?_

_And will there ever be a way back?_

When Trish stood with her mouth open and her breathing erratic, but saying nothing; Jessica couldn’t stand the feeling of her own skin burning any longer. She laughed humorlessly at herself, shook her head, and then made to go back inside. 

Trish outstretched a hand and felt her vocal chords constricting, but ultimately fail at doing any good.

* * *

Trish sat in the low leather chair across from Jessica. The desk between them more than just a physical barrier.

“So,” Jessica started, “What are you taking?”

Trish eyes the ceiling and the paint flaking there before bringing her gaze back to the P.I.

“Simpson’s inhaler.”

Jessica scoffed predictably and scowled, “You don’t even know what’s in that shit. It could kill you. It could be melting your insides.”

Trish raised her hands in defense, “Just skip the lecture. I’m drying out. The things empty, okay?”

Jessica scrunched her brows, “Why even risk it in the first place?”

“I don’t know-” she knew, “- It felt like more of a risk not to take it.” 

Jessica gave her the ‘don’t fuck with me, I know you too well’ face.

“You single-handedly almost took down IGH with a Pasty wig and a cell phone. How much more of a badass do you need to be?”

Trish’s face remained neutral, but her red rimmed glassy eyes said everything.

“You know the answer to that.”

She did. 

_‘What more do you want?’_

_‘To save the world of course.’_

Jessica took a long swig from her glass and tried to put her front back on. 

“I’m probably not the best person for a recovering addict to be around right now.” 

Trish laughed, full and hardy and for the first time in weeks. 

“Bullshit,” she said.

“Patsy!” Jessica mock gasped. 

“Don’t,” Trish stood abruptly, chair toppling over behind her. She stood, looming gauntly above Jessica. “Not now.”

The P.I cleared her throat and, perhaps it was the right lighting at that exact angle, but she looked almost nauseous. 

“My life is kind of fucked up at the moment,” she said dismissively. It was generally her MO. Not unknown to Trish of course. 

“Your life is my life, Jess.” Trish’s shoulders were slumped with the weight the world - Jessica’s world. And the look on her face will never not be Jessica’s fault 

She stood and rounded the desk to stand in front of Trish, frame broad and intimidating.

“My condolences.”

“Jess,” Trish said with a look on her face that only Trish could make. 

“I know,” she mumbled. 

Trish covered the last few steps between them carefully but surely.

“Your life is my life.”

“My shit is your shit.”

A glare. 

“Your life is my life.”

Trish smiled and hooked a finger in one of Jessica’s belt loops, pulling her closer. She held them flush and rested her head on the taller woman’s shoulder. 

Jessica, ever the socially inept private eye she was, was unsure of what to do with her hands before settling on wrapping them around Trish’s midsection. Pressing her closer, somehow. 

Trish’s cold nose nuzzling against her neck broke whatever resolve Jessica was still desperately clinging to.

“_I love you_,” she spoke. 

Trish held her closer and muttered, “I_ know_.”

Jessica could feel her smile against her skin, and couldn’t help but allow a small one of her own to pull at her lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Leaving this pile of burning crap here. If anyone likes it let me know and I'll continue.


End file.
